


Supply Closet

by Beastmouth



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Frotting, M/M, PWP, Raunchy and Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastmouth/pseuds/Beastmouth
Summary: Their kiss isn't romantic, nor sweet. It's not any of those chaste little things that cause a flutter in your chest. It's rough and hard, metallic in taste from lips turned raw. Teeth knocking together doesn't matter; it's just part of it.





	

They're not where they're supposed to be.

  
There comes a time where rules and regulations are just far too much to bear, where doing as you're told is near insufferable because following the same routine day in and day out wears you thin all the way to the bone. The scrutiny of guards, doctors, orderlies, nurses bearing down on you with their endless watchfulness. They don't see you but they're looking at you, and it's the same every day.

  
They're barely human, hardly worth the little care given. The program makes it worse, the experiments make it worse. Stress wraps around every nerve and stiffens muscles and hardens postures -- rarely does it ever let up, rarely do they see a break in the pattern.  
Schedules, therapy sessions, interviews, the engine.

  
Sleep offers no comfort. There's only nightmares to welcome them in the deep. So two men are not where they're supposed to be. Vastly different in every which way but for the simple fact that their anger is raw and bloody and manifests in ugly ways.

  
They're supposed to be in their cells, in their respective blocks, being good and obedient little creatures, but while creatures they may be they're far from obedient and while the world offers no comfort to their dismay they can find an outlet in each other, stuffed into a supply closet that's far too small for the two but remote enough that they won't be discovered. Stress and desperation for something to break the pattern makes it easy to abandon dignity, and hands are wandering shamelessly over bodies with wild abandon.

  
Their kiss isn't romantic, nor sweet. It's not any of those chaste little things that cause a flutter in your chest. It's rough and hard, metallic in taste from lips turned raw. Teeth knocking together doesn't matter; it's just part of it.

  
"Watch your fucking claws," hisses Eddie when a sharp pain shoots up his leg. He receives no apology, or even any sign of remorse at the bright red lines across his now-exposed thigh; the fabric of his jumpsuit ripped open. A hand clamps over his mouth and he makes a noise of protest when his head is roughly turned to the side and scarred lisp press against the bend of his neck.

  
"Shut up," Chris mutters. He can't help it nor does he particularly care. It seems quickly forgotten however when he sucks a mark onto Eddie's skin. The hand around his wrist grows less urgent and is simply just there. Another hand grabs a fistful of fabric at Chris' side, tugging him closer like Eddie could actually do anything to budge him. But he can take a hint, and he feels just so inclined to oblige and press the other man against the wall. During the motion the crafty bastard slips a thigh between Chris' legs and offers something quite intimate in terms of pressure and he lets out a raspy growl against his flesh.

  
Somewhere among their heavy breaths there's a zipper being pulled and Chris feels his jumpsuit going slack around him. Cold, calloused hands slip inside and slide around his large frame as far as they can go without straining, stopping just short of meeting at his spine. A shivering sensation travels up his back at the touch, reaching the top of him with a heavy exhale.

  
Eddie doesn't waste too much time on just getting handsy; there's no point in wandering around when all they need is something to ease the tightness in their chests, to soothe the rage. While everything previously felt so dull and afar Chris becomes acutely aware of the way he's palmed through his underwear. It's clumsy and not very attentive but it's enough for him to want more and so he presses closer, bites down on Eddie's neck with a grunt.

  
The other man squirms from the pain, but there's an uptick of laughter to the way he breathes and who knows what's going through that guy's head. Despite his earlier protests it seems the pain gets to him, and he's likely just mouthing off for the hell of it. Just to be difficult. Fucker. But despite the infuriating parts of his personality, what he's doing with his hands is taking a considerable bit of Chris' attention, and his mouth falls open to ease his struggle to breathe.

  
His underwear is pushed down carelessly and while being rubbed dry is not the most pleasant feeling in the world, he'll take what he can get. It's almost better that way; rough and impulsive. His enjoyment is interrupted by the sound of Eddie's amused bark right by his ear.

"Look at you, you're practically rutting into my hand, you filthy pig."

  
There he goes flapping his mouth again, and whether it's meant to piss him off or rile him up is uncertain though it does a little bit of both. Chris shoves Eddie's hand away with yet another animalistic guttural noise because he's already sick of his shit, but he has an idea on how to stop his chattering. He doesn't have quite the same care for courtesy as Eddie does when it comes to undressing, so the zipper on his jumpsuit is left abandoned and he settles for instead ripping the front open.

  
He pulls him out without hesitation and pulls back only to spit in his hand.

  
Even with the darkness and poor eyesight, Chris is close enough to be able to make out the vague look of disgust on Eddie's face. But honestly he can suck it up because no way in hell is he going to deal with friction burns on his dick. Thankful for the gift of large hands, Chris takes the both of them in one grip and braces against the wall with his elbow. There's no taking it slow, no teasing build-up. It's fast and filthy and he hears Eddie hiss out the faintest of curses as his breathing picks up considerably.

  
Lips and teeth are at his throat, breath hot and heavy against his skin leaving behind a trail of bites as they move to the corner of his jaw. Yet another degrading insult is thrown at him but Chris stopped listening yesterday, pays attention instead to the slight waver in his voice, the way his breath catches on each syllable. It's far more interesting than anything he has to say, for sure. He has half the mind to growl something back at him, or to stop and let go as punishment, but he just jacks them off faster instead. He's getting close, too into it to stop.

  
Eddie laughs and starts saying something again, so Chris shoves his fingers into his mouth to shut him up. The suddenness of it pulls a surprised and rather indignant noise from him, and hands fly to remove the intruding digits but Chris does not budge. He's got a firm grip on his jaw now and while it feels gross and moist he'd rather deal with that than listen to more of Eddie's filthy bullshit.

  
Eddie cums before Chris does, and his groan is muffled around Chris' fingers. Cum smears onto Chris' belly and drips down over his fingers in a sticky mess, making it far easier to stroke himself off with the increased slickness. In the heat of the moment he's far more liberal with grunts and huffs than he'd want to be, but he's so very close. Sweat is beading on the back of his neck when he finally, finally finished, and he bites his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed.

  
The aftermath is oddly still, the two of them struggling to catch their breath. Chris leans against the wall with one hand on either side of Eddie's head, who stares at him with an indecipherable expression.

  
Eventually, he clicks his tongue at him, as if scolding, and presses a thumb against his bleeding lip.

  
"Look what you've gone and done to yourself," he coos condescendingly. Chris jerks his head out of his grasp and scoffs at him, running a tongue over the split. "I'm almost sad I can't take credit for it."

  
"You wish," Chris growls, but has enough common courtesy to help make them somewhat decent again, except for the state of Eddie's jumpsuit. They will probably pretend they got into a fight, and everyone will be none the wiser. Chris doesn't bother lying, doesn't care enough to, but Eddie crafts them as easily as he breathes and will likely come up with something more or less believable.

  
Not that it matters. It's not like this is going to happen again or anything.

**Author's Note:**

> so, anyway.... how about them boys!!


End file.
